


The Last Night

by CobaltDream



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15678198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltDream/pseuds/CobaltDream
Summary: Andrea struggles to adjust to the idea of a life beyond Miranda's world as she prepares for an emerging career at the New York Mirror. Miranda dreads the change coming to the endless days ahead without Andrea's charm and increasing presence among the Priestly brood. The two discover that, with a little courage, more might await them after the last night.





	1. It Begins Where It Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I hold no ownership over characters connected to the film or novel, Devil Wears Prada.

Andrea quietly stepped into the townhouse’s foyer. A small lamp sitting on a crystal table gave the hall an ethereal glow. She gulped as she slide the closet door open, this time taking a deep breath through her nose as felt the rounded crystal knob in her palm. She smiled as yet another small set of details reminded her of…her. The attention to the little things that made shiny pages, colorful textiles, slim waists and just about anything else under Miranda’s touch seem well adjusted, cared for and easily one of the most beautifully striking pieces of art one had or ever could encounter. She sighed.

 

 _My last night. Oh, well. It had to end eventually. I should be happy._ She thought.

 

“I am,” she murmured allowed, trying her best to see her new job at the _New York Mirror_ through a kaleidoscope of beauty that working with Miranda at _Runway_ had shifted into. After Nate, after Paris and the heartache of losing friends; after Miranda’s initial testiness and the fast-tracked divorce that seemed to lighten the woman’s ritual strides into the bright empire of _Runway_ corridors and offices in the mornings and make their hello’s a little more frequent; after applications and the distress of who she could not be with had settled into an endurable struggle.

 

“What?” Miranda’s voice floated.

 

With a gasp, the girl looked up as Miranda slowly descended the blue carpeted stairwell.

 

“I tried to be silent,” Andrea chuckled.

 

“What are you?” Miranda asked through a smile. Like so many of these quiet exchanges with Miranda in the last few weeks, this soft, less contrite and entirely uncharacteristic bearing from the editor tore through Andrea’s chest like thunder bolts.

 

Andrea breathed deeply and smiled as brightly as she could manage. “Happy, I think. It’s a bit bittersweet, though, you know.” Now that Andrea had hung the dry cleaning, she turned to where Miranda stood with a shoulder leaning against the wall, the gentle lamp light at her back, making her layered coif shine like new snow.

 

“Hm.” Andrea was shocked to see Miranda inhale deeply, to see her form seem to compress. “It’s your last day with a select group of incompetent fools before the city of fools is your domain in earnest, and I must say I’m a little surprised that you decided to deliver the book.” She peered at Andrea with what felt like unprecedented concentration. “So true to form. Even in the last.”

 

“What? You think I’d slack off on my last day?” She smiled.

 

“Well, the letter of recommendation has been sent and the job earned, no? Perhaps you wouldn’t be able to stand to further stall a celebration of freedom. Perhaps the thought of finally joining a league of like-minded advocates for social justice would have been too tempting.”

 

Andrea smiled at Miranda’s teasing tone, but felt she needed to make her understand how much her entire concept of Miranda’s persona, let alone her ideas about the labor that went into directing a global fashion industry from the 44th floor of Elias-Clarke, had transformed everything she’d assumed about Miranda. She allowed her eyes to take purchase in Miranda’s night-laden appearance—smooth cheekbones, no earrings or necklaces. Just a warm-looking beige sweater dipping down to reveal freckles on the skin of her chest and soft trousers that hugged her curves.

 

“You know that’s changed right? For me. I do—I think so much of y—”

 

“That wasn’t an invitation to ply me with compliments. I don’t need them.” Another deep breath, and the smile slipped away. She had taken the book from Andrea’s hands and without shifting her steady attention from Andrea before her, reached behind her to slide the book on glass top.

 

“I know,” Andrea whispered, looking down. A beat and bit louder. “But to be honest, I had thought of all the things that I _might_ have said to you on the trip over. Now, that seems like an odd thing to do. I mean, especially given the past few weeks and all of the girls’ activities—.” Their shoulders shook in unison. Caroline and Cassidy had “driven them up a wall,” as Miranda had said two nights ago, with an onslaught of events, requests for help with homework and spur-of-the-moment errands that had tugged Miranda and Andrea into uncharted proximity for the past month.

 

Andrea had never felt the brush of Miranda’s arms against her side so often, and Miranda had never closely studied the intricacies of Andrea’s brown irises as often, before, as she had in sharing backseats and sitting on couches with her—so large, like pools of bronze sand specked with gold and amber. Their chuckles brought teeth out, causing them both to gaze at the others’ smile. Ice cream, recitals, group trips to the pet store and the bodega. Dinner at the kitchen island under bright fluorescent bulbs had been an easy excuse to dismiss the late hour as they snickered over coffee. Watching Andrea nibble on their baked creations after the girls had gone to bed. Miranda awkwardly saying goodnight to the girl in the dim foyer and waiting with her for a taxi she insisted on—“You _will_ , and I’ll _pay_.”—and then later deciding that quick retreats to her own room at night after without those proper waiting goodbyes were even worse.

 

It had been so easy for Andrea to fall into the downy comfort that she never knew the Priestly brood could be. It had been so hard for Miranda in these moments to admit that her heart seemed to crack with each of Andrea’s unplanned snorts of laughter, to realize those few game nights in the den refereeing the girls’ and Andrea’s rowdy competitions after Sunday brunches had truly been the most alive she could remember being in years. _It’ll end here tonight_ , Miranda sighed internally. _But I’ll wait her out. I’ll soak her in._

 

“Darling, it’s too soon for you to lose your words. You’re so close to the self-discovery you’ve yearned for over a year now, since you came to New York.” Another smile. “Surely a journalist of your caliber—and I’ve read the samples you submitted—would be more…verbose.” Andrea looked up from her shifting feet, realizing that she now was also leaning against the wall of the foyer, realizing that there was nothing but this moment of lingering conversation keeping Miranda Priestly and Miranda Priestly’s girls and Miranda Priestly’s dog and Miranda Priestly’s homey townhouse and Miranda Priestly’s whims, dedication, confidence and utter, utter beauty in her grasp. Her own fingers felt foreign as they grasped her arms in crossing. Her eyes stung.

 

“See. The thing is. The thing is I’m, maybe hoping that a hug isn’t entirely out of the question.” She breathed out with a little laugh. That wasn’t what Andrea wanted to ask. It seemed the most pertinent question in the world to ask, “We’ll stay in touch right?” or to say, “I’ve already gotten from Caroline a flier for the piano gig she’s booked for next Thursday.” To know that Miranda wouldn’t forget how hard she laughed at Andrea’s joke about Emily’s hidden cheese in the desk drawers. Or any of the tiny knick knacks—glances, playful nudges, a group photo—that had passed between them. That changed things right? Andrea needed to know.

 

“Oh?” Initially seeming startled, Miranda pursed her lips, rounding them to the left as she had been recently prone to doing to ward off the fluster that Andrea evoked.

 

“Just one, huh?” Andrea untangled her arms and leaned her head to the side.

 

Miranda huffed. “Well, I’m certain that the fastest way to accomplish your mission is to suggest that I’m unable to engage in the most basic of activities. Goodness.” But her breath hitched when Andrea didn’t banter back, rather sliding her hands around Miranda’s sides and forming an apex of fingers between her shoulder blades. She found herself hugging Andrea too. In seconds, her chin trapped dark locks against Andrea’s neck. She breathed her in and felt the feelings of comfort so deeply it made her fingers clinch where they rested against the girl’s waist.

 

“Oh!” They leaned back, chests rising and falling with the other.

 

“Sorry, I…”

 

“For what? No. It’s fine. I really…”

 

“What?”

 

“…liked that.”

 

A quiet snort from Miranda. “Really. You’re too easy to please.”

 

“No. It’s just that I always knew it would be nice to do. And…” Andrea leaned in, kissed Miranda’s lips, allowing her chest to press against hers.

 

The kiss gave off no noise. Andrea could hear the pull of air into Miranda’s nose, could feel Miranda’s fingers clinch at her waist again, but she couldn’t see her eyes with them closed.

 

Miranda heaved in, knowing, somehow, that within the next five seconds she would need to make a decision. She had let go of the idea of Andrea being in her arms and had definitely let go of the idea of letting this young woman shine through her days more than ever happened with any of her previous friends or husbands. But all the hard work she’d done in nightly lectures to herself on professionalism, the rabid press and the potential ruination of Andrea’s career and all of the morning meditation sessions and Bach tracks in the car with Roy couldn’t stop her from leaning back in to Andrea without another word.

 

 _It’s even now_ , Miranda thought. _She’s had one, and now I’ve had a turn._ _Now we can…_

But Andrea interrupted her thoughts. Saying her name. It wasn’t exactly a call for her attention or even the beginning of another string of words. It was pure surrender.

 

Her eyes shot open to see Andrea’s eyes opening, too. They stared with mutual surprise that Miranda’s legendary temper was no where to be felt or experienced. That Andrea’s infamous nervous fidgeting had no bearing on the way that her arms now securely circled Miranda’s middle, her thumbs gently pressing into the small indentations on Miranda’s lower back.

 

They kissed again. A rush. A softening. How those two things could exist in tandem, Miranda didn’t know but her thoughts faded when it happened again. A press of mouths, a hitch from the lips released, a rest against her forehead. Then again and again until Miranda stopped counting and until they were no longer standing in the hallway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Thinking About Her

Andrea sat at her desk wearing a dumb grin. It’s as if her neck had decided it had had enough under the weight of her mental joy. She couldn’t stop dropping her head into her palms at least once an hour since she’d arrived for her morning shift. And it was all because she couldn’t keep her mind off of Miranda and the Priestly bunch.

The phone rang, prompting Andrea’s most fervent Runway muscle memory: phone cradling. “You’ve reached Sachs,” she clipped out. After a few days in the writing hole at the Mirror’s main uptown office, she couldn’t bear to also carry over the pleasant greeting style she’d become infamous for among designers and assistants who called the magazine. That type of attitude didn’t seem to gain the social capital of serious journalism in her first couple of weeks of digging for news, anyway. Now a solid month in, Andrea felt much more secure in adapting to the buzz and quirks of a rowdy big city news industry.

“I’ve a lead for you,” Jeremy announced in a sing-songy voice. Then, his normal baritone voice abruptly cut through. “Ready? Hope you’ve got a pen in hand, Andy.”

“Make it good, Higgins. Don’t go wasting my time,” she joked. 

“Turns out that underground textile factory story you told me about has some giant legs. I just met a cop who mentioned pulling a ton of long-stem needles, fabric rolls and booster seats out of an out of the way storage unit being investigated for off-the-books rentals. Funny combination, wouldn’t you say?”

Andy gasped. “Holy hell. You really think they’re connected? Where’s the unit exactly?”

“Only ten blocks from the manufacturing site you showed me at the café yesterday. Would you believe…”

“I would. And I’m hooked. This is an incredible bit of news, Jeremy, really. I mean, if you wanted some credit for this lead, I’d—”

“Keep ears to the ground for a brother, will ya?” He laughed. “This is all you, Andy. You dug in deep for an investigative report that’s sure to win you at least the big two child protection awards out of the City, if not bring in international attention, too. That ledger with under-aged kids’ names and addresses was a goldmine and enough to bring those bastards running that underground base down. You deserve the help.”

Andy palmed her forehead, smiling. “Thank you. I really can’t say more than that. If those kids working for pennies on the dollar didn’t break my heart so much, I’d be spinning around right now. Oh, and I’m one hundred percent your girl on tips. Trust me. We disciples of advocacy have to stick together, and you know it.” 

Noises sounded in Jeremy’s office. As a managing editor of one of the city’s leading political news circuits, Jeremy’s time at the office usually kept him either on the phone or in constant conversation with his news staff. He’d become somewhat of a genius recruiter in the journalism circle. He’d hired the youngest bright-eyed journalists, policy research analysts and political aficionados right out of college while also bringing in the highly experienced, yet perennially entry-level tier of the commercial writing sector. Giving the latter group higher wages and desk-writing and retaining the novice sector primarily for research-driven, out-of-office work, he was able to optimize his relatively modest budget and make into a trend a print-to-digital news company that nearly exclusively ran co-authored daily political op-eds, investigation reports, business news and a little celebrity move-making in philanthropy for morale. 

“Alright! That’s my cue.” 

“You’re headed offline, got it.”

“Don’t forget to check the invite I sent for the Contours showing. No worries if you can’t come, but with your fashion background, I bet you’d find it at least a bit interesting.”

“Oh! Sorry. My head’s been wrapped up in this story. Will do.” And a lady named Miranda Priestly. 

“No worries but let me know! I’ve got to run now.”

“K. Bye!”

Andy felt lucky to know him. She’d met him two months ago while interviewing at a satellite Mirror office in his office’s building. After bumping into each other and fervent apologies in the doorway of a stairwell, they’d gotten off to a great start laughing about the benefits of avoiding the awkwardness of shared elevators in Manhattan. She accepted his business card before he sidetracked to an exit for his floor. Following up for coffee had led to a series of business and leisure outings between the two. For the first time since Doug’s move from NYC to Boston where Nate conveniently was, she’d felt like her friend circle was expanding in significant ways. With Jeremy came a small horde of admirers and buddies—men and women—who always to seem to stop into the same coffee shops, art pop-ups around town and philanthropy ceremonies they’d attended in the last month. Jeremy’s budding small-time celebrity status, tall, trim physique and handsome presentation certainly helped his popularity along. Since they’d met, Andy found that journalism was both bigger than she could imagine and as intimate as a properly placed phone call. She should have known. Miranda had told her it would be like this.

She picked up the phone again.

“Yes?” 

“Miranda. Hi.” She all but gushed.

“Andrea. To what do I owe this pleasure? I confess I’ve got about two minutes before I’m buried to the chin in a room full of idiots and uninspired racks of god-awful apparel,” she droned the last part for affect.

“Sounds like you’re having an awesome day!” Andy countered in a chipper voice.

“Now.” Came a light response. “Now I’m having a rather excellent day.” Her smile forced her to swing the chair towards the window of her office. Miranda couldn’t have the entire floor know that she’d become an idiot in her own right for one very beautiful ex-assistant turned hot-shot reporter.

“I wondered if you wanted to get together for dinner tomorrow night? I can’t wait to catch you up on my child labor leads.” A little more quietly, “And I really want to see you.”

“Well. It sounds like we’ve got to set ourselves a time indeed. But I simply can’t do Wednesday, unfortunately. I’ve got to cram meetings ahead of an event. How is Thursday for lunch?”

“Gosh. I can’t.” She had checked her email to see the animated invitation Jeremy’s assistant sent showing the Contour event for Thursday evening. That meant she’d need the full day to finish her stories before a Friday morning deadline.

“We’re at the one minute mark. I can feel the stupid coming.”

“Alright. Hmm. How’s Friday?” She said trying not to sigh. So many days before seeing Miranda again since Saturday night felt like an unmanageable feat. Even with the love of the rush of writing and doing the work she’d dreamed of, the separation from Miranda’s vicinity frustrated her. She kept wondering when these ultimately minor moments of angst would feel less awful.

“It’s evident isn’t it? Just come by tonight, Andrea. Friday is fine really, but I’m afraid the obligatory Staff Awards ceremony will run long, and I won’t get home to you or the girls until 9. Then, their on-going feud with the Templeton’s daughter will steal the show per usual. They’ll want to tell you all about it.”

Andrea giggled. “That sounds about right, yes.” A beat with a dip in the brow. “I confess to kinda wanting to know all about it.” She laughed. “It’s getting good. And, gosh, yes to tonight! I just didn’t want to hog up your day is all. Otherwise I would have…”

“What?”

“Um. I don’t know. Told you that I hoped seeing you tonight was possible. I want you to know things like that. And to know that I think about you. Um.”

Miranda hummed into the phone. “Tonight, it is.” Already thinking up ideas for a dessert that the new Emily would ask the cook to make before she left the townhouse this afternoon. The girls would love the surprise treat and would love seeing Andrea more. Her hand automatically moved to end the call, but she hesitated, bringing the phone back to her ear.

“I want to hear it, Andrea. All of the things you have to say.” Then lowering her voice, “Any sound from you entices it seems.” She disconnected just as she heard the clackers' thumps against the carpeted outer office floors. 

She knew she had about thirty seconds before an assistant knocked to draw her attention. She closed her eyes and let her body sink inches more into the office chair. She exhaled as she allowed images of Andrea to overtake her mind, something she tried to reserve for moments when she had more time, but those were few. Flashes of memory came in rapid succession: Andrea kissing and embracing her in the foyer, pinning her against the countertops at home and, once in a quiet conference room between Elias-Clarke and The Mirror’s Radnor Building, opening and filling Miranda in a display of mid-day lust. The flashes came and went in no time at all, leaving Miranda taking a deep breath. Andrea’s very essence lingered like a well-situated scarf that one wears and that one remembers both because of its beauty and its practicality. Which led to a few ideas about some wicked ways she could use scarves when she finally got Andrea alone. 

Another phone call to her personal cell clamoring to be heard over the incoming horde for the run-through. Seeing Emily’s number, she paused and answered. “Yes? You have good news for me, I hope.”

“That’s right, Miranda. I got a copy of the official RSVP list for the Contour launch.” No matter how many months she’d spent as an art director at Runway since the generous promotion Miranda had extended, there was still a nice afterglow from succeeding at a Miranda-given mission. A new and highly vague design and “apparel-minded” firm had been running a series of launch events that brought an eclectic mix of fashion magnates and wanna-bes in reach of communities that could enlarge and reshape public perceptions of fashion, body art and imaginative creations in ways that endorsed a more positive standing. Miranda wasn't so isolated that she didn't understand that high costs of haute couture and mega-fashion shows around the world had to be balanced out with public investment in other modest ways. Miranda had recently been invited to join their advisory board, but without a concrete understanding of their product output beyond society soirees, she didn’t know enough to be sure of the value of running her name alongside its standing board. Emily’s list was the easiest way to see who and what other organizations Contour deemed to be connected to worthwhile comrade industries.

“Excellent. You’ll send it over by email then?” Knowing exactly how Emily had procured such a list seemed less important.

“Right away. Already in your inbox, in fact.” 

Miranda bit back a crazy urge to smile like a Cheshire cat. “You’ve earned that staff award that’s coming to you this Friday.” She hung up and turned to the group huddled with seven racks in tow.

A floor up, Emily preened in a small desk mirror and then glanced with lowered brows and a shake of the head at her own assistant clamoring away on a Mac keyboard. “She’ll simply never understand the dogged work and dedication that I demonstrate for this company,” she said to herself.

 

\---


	3. The Contours of Trust

Miranda indulged a momentary reprieve from all the decisions she had to make in time to submit a full show for the Met Gala. She actually loved the opportunity to lead this year’s model and exhibit committees though she hadn’t divulged this reaction to any of her staff. No one but Andrea and the girls.

 

With each run-through—witless and lacking as some parts were—she quietly watched her staff’s building momentum.

 

This is why girls around the world would kill without remorse to work with the editor-in-chief of _Runway Magazine_. She found no need for actual dead bodies but she had collected former assistants’ CV at the time of an exit interview, should they make it that far. Along with sales, quality and artistic freedom the magazine sponsored, fruitful opportunity remained at the core of working under Miranda.

 

She rang Cara to quickly list off the evening’s preparations. She also asked for an extra thirty minutes tacked onto her shift.

 

She then sent two text messages to Andrea:

 

_Cara will child-sit while we have dinner. Sound good to start at 7:30?_

 

_Girls will be in bed by 8 tonight ahead of their away-trip tomorrow AM._

 

Andrea smiled into her palms, clutching the phone that held open messages from Miranda.

 

_Absolutely perfect. Can’t wait ☺_

\--

Andrea convinced her editor, Greg to let her scoot out of the office a half-hour early as a reward for an early submission. A trip to her apartment for a simple white blouse and dark jeans and to straighten her hair, she hoped, would freshen her appearance enough to compete with all the sulty-looking women she knew Miranda crossed paths with each day.

 

Finally arriving at the townhouse, a gust of nerves flew from her mouth, sending her bangs flying ahead of her as she tapped the townhouse’s doorbell.

 

A chime and then Miranda’s sly smile-graced features appeared. She reached out and swept Andrea into the foyer by the fingertips.

 

Andrea wore a dumb grin for too long because Miranda began to chuckle at her listlessness as their hands swung between them.

 

After several looks up and down her physique, Miranda announced, “You’re well paired this evening.”

 

“Thank you, Miranda.” Before Miranda could fully turn on her heels towards the inner rooms, Andrea pulled her back and trapped her rose-colored lips between her own. This enthusiasm pulled more throaty chuckles from Miranda.

 

The sound of it made Andrea feel like a world-class heroine. So she nuzzled their cheeks together and whispered in Miranda’s ear: “You know you like it.”

 

“Very much, I do. Frankly, if we didn’t have an empty dining room for at least the next thirty minutes, I’d want to linger in this moment for much, much longer.” She leaned in for another kiss and turned as planned.

 

“The girls?” Andrea asked as they walked though the kitchen and under an archway into a room with a stately, yet homey eight-seat table.

 

“Upstairs. Cara probably deserves a little extra in her mid-year bonus this year. Lately, I’ve pulled more half-hour shifts from her than I care to admit.” She sat plates down, thankful that the nanny had already set glasses, a jug of water and a bottle of wine and a sliced blueberry pie.

 

“Speaking of, how’s the Met prep coming along?” She sat adjacent from Miranda who naturally took her place at the head of the table.

 

“Darling, you first. I’m simply entranced by the little you’ve told me about the child labor factory you discovered a couple of weeks ago. What’s Greg to say? Surely he couldn’t have imagined you’d come in with a bombshell so soon.”

 

“He’s totally blown. I think really blown. So am I. But I’m much more frustrated with the fact that I’ve had to stall my check-ins with Child Protective Services since they busted the place when I first tipped the cops on it.”

 

“It makes sense. The more you raise it among administration, the closer it gets to the street and the big-wigs who ultimately want to keep this sort of thing buried.”

 

“He’s also afraid I’ll get scooped. I need a solid month on this, Miranda. Doing it less justice will kill my efforts to show these are not only isolated examples of madness. It’s systematic, too. The city’s housing and labor policies are rife with loopholes. It’s why shit like this happens.” She looked around the two doorways—to the stairs and to the kitchen—once she’d been able to catch her breath.

 

Miranda, with a glass in hand, arched an eyebrow at Andrea’s wild head spinning.

 

Andrea continued, “Really sorry. Geez. Language, right?”

 

“You’re discussing the city’s structural fallacies and you think I mind cursing? Darling,” she said swiping at Andrea’s bangs and then deciding to lean in for a kiss.

 

Andrea let out a big breath. She would have loved to curl up with Miranda on the couch right now. It had been cathartic have brief chats with her desk mate, Jane, her boss, Greg and Jeremy, but Miranda was the only person she trusted enough to divulge the whole of the slowly forming puzzle. And the thoughts of both the harm the shop enabled and the few families she was now responsible for separating weighed on her.

 

Miranda must have sensed this because a comforting clamp to her neck seemed to release more air from her lungs than she knew she held.

 

“And the new piece you told me about earlier?”

 

“Jeremy!” Sprang from Andrea. “He’s a real pal, Miranda. His tip is helping me prove the systemic part of the story. And however much I really hate it, because the kids are most important, I know that’s the big pull that can really change the way the process works altogether.” She recounted the unexpected news she’d heard from him earlier today, periodically blushing when Miranda ran fingers through her bangs unprompted.

 

Miranda was happy for Andrea, but she couldn’t help but internally sigh. The amount of times Andrea mentioned casual meet-ups and outings with Jeremy frustrated Miranda. She couldn’t reasonably ask Andrea to abstain from public events, dinner parties and collegial friendliness. Those activities, she knew, constituted the bread-and-butter of journalism, fashion, academia and any number of specialized industries.

 

“I’m going on and on,” Andrea pouted. “You’ve gotta tell me about the Met!”

 

But the girls and Cara trickled into the room before Miranda could, with yelps of “Andy” and arms thrown around her neck.

 

As the girls recounted their days to an attentive Andrea, Miranda pulled the iPhone from her pocket, quickly opening her email. A month ago, she couldn’t fathom her new emails doubling her inbox count, but the evidence was there.

 

Unfortunately, what she saw gave her pause, completely killing the pleasant vibes that the two women had enjoyed in the past hour. There, on the list Emily had sent, were two names conjoined in a single RSVP entry that Miranda loathe to see:

 

Attending: Jeremy Higgins ( _NY Chase_ ) with Andrea Sachs ( _Mirror_ )

 

“Settle down, girls. You’re already up too late.” Miranda softly admonished when it looked as if Andy’s face would light on fire from laughter at the girls’ perpetual shoving to get vocal space to tell her about their upcoming trip to an organic farm just out of the city’s limits.

 

Table cleared and girls re-directed to their beds, nearly an hour-later Miranda and Andrea held each other at the door, sharing goodbyes.

 

“I’ll see you soon? Friday, maybe?” Andrea braved the idea of meeting twice in a week. While seeing each other at least six days per week had been the couple’s modus operandi for a year of her time at _Runway_ , she was much more timid about demanding more of Miranda’s time beyond that.

 

“Indeed, maybe. You’ll be the first to know if my legs still work after Friday’s tours of the Met venue.”

 

“Oh. Alright.” Andrea thought maybe it was a shoe-in since Miranda had already sort of said yes earlier. But she wouldn’t push. Not when things were going so unbelievably well between them.

\--

 

In fact, things had been going so well between Miranda and Andrea that her heart stuttered when she saw the editor descend a short entry stairwell into a sunken ballroom the next night at the Contours party. Billed as a formal gathering of city-wide established magnates and mult-industry up-starts, the crowd billowed with Prada and Gucci sequence dresses and Calvin Klein black tuxedoes. But Miranda and her entourage stole the show upon their appearance.

 

Andrea stood next to Jeremy at a fountain positioned in the middle of the hall.

 

“Told you we’d see everything from here. Bet you’re seeing folks you know alllll round.” He quipped. Then, Jeremy nudged Andrea’s arm, “Hey?”

 

“Oh, sorry. Yeah. Yes.” Andy stumbled. “That’s, well you know, my former boss.”

 

He laughed. “Of course! Not something easy to forget. Not that you’ve been a real well of information about her beyond an, how did you put it?: ‘uncanny artistic and directional brilliance.’”

 

Finding a moment to shift her attention back to Jeremy, “That’s because that’s what’s most important!”

 

“Well, I’ve heard enough from others to know I should keep my business in line with her interests should the _Chase_ ever overlap with the Queen of Ice or her _Runway_.”

 

Andy couldn’t keep track of Jeremy’s comments though. Because Miranda was a dream. A silver chiffon dress flowed with each step. Andy stared with parted lips at the deep v-neck cut that dipped low enough to reveal a freckled chest while also shielding her breasts from potential gawkers. It synched at the waist with a bodice inset that remarkably accentuated her curves. Andy wanted to run the pads of her thumb down the soft pleated bottom of it and the curvy bottom it adorned. To rip it off, stitch it back together and put it on display. Maybe at the Met Gala next month.

 

Plenty of suited men strode her way, one already leaning down in what looked to be a failed effort to peck Miranda’s hand.

 

She felt an incredible need in that moment to make sure Miranda would continue to be hers. Her faith in Miranda’s affections for her ran so deep that Andy hadn’t given much thought to what they were in label. They were girlfriends, right? Maybe even a future partner? Or, just a lover on the side, hidden and explored only in the realm of enticing domesticity—those mundane habits of a working mother sharing her spare time with her children and an adoring votary when Miranda permitted her inclusion? It felt important that she know with more certainty than she currently harbored.

 

Hearing Jeremy call her name cut into her thoughts—“Andy, I trust your judgment but I gotta say I’ve heard she’s a real shark. People are convinced she only makes an appearance at things like this to advance _Runway_ initiatives. The fact that she’s known to stay for a hot minute—surrounded by her favorites and is dismissive of folks trying to stick their necks into the game—is kind of evidence enough, don’t you think?”

 

“It’s not like that at all. I’m sure of it. She’s not. A shark, I mean. Or a devil or the Ice Queen or any of the other monikers that people who want something she won’t give throw her way. I should know.”

 

She looked over, seeing Miranda flanked by Emily and Nigel on either side and two assistants a couple of steps behind like stoic Aphrodite statues draped in expensive shimmering fabrics. They apparently caught her eye at the same time—Nigel and Emily. She could see their eyes widening and mirrored the stretch of Nigel’s smile as he turned to whisper in Miranda’s ear. Miranda hadn’t seen her yet; her heart sped up in anticipation.

 

She nibbled her lip as nerves set in. There were a billion better ways to encounter her heart’s desire than while standing next to a charming man who happened to be her plus-one for the event. However platonic their friendship, she wasn’t naïve. They probably looked like a couple of up-and-coming young professionals on a date. Scouring the nearby terrain, she tried to be subtle in taking a step to the right, widening the space between the two of them.

 

She thought about her terrible oversight in not explaining her meet-up with Jeremy at dinner the moment she pictured the scene from Miranda’s perspective. Right as Miranda turned to look her in the eye, she inhaled at the subtle smile the woman wore. She didn’t seem all that surprised to see Andy there but the looks of interest and then consternation suggested that Andy’s dress and Andy’s fellow attendee had gotten her attention.

 

Andy stared into blue eyes until her eyesight blurred when a black tuxedo blocked her gaze.

 

"My! Six! What a sight for sore eyes. You look fabulous.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek.

 

“Nigel, It’s great to see you. You’re looking pretty fab-u-lous yourself. Nice digs!”

 

With an air: “ _Incognito_ designers of late have loaded me with endless samples. There are too many people in the world who simply do not understand the complexity behind choosing a well-fitting suit. Turns out, I’m surrounded by all the people who do. It’s working for me,” he said with a wink.

 

“As a fellow suit junkie, I’d agree with you there,” Jeremy chimed in.

 

“Oh! Nigel, meet Jeremy Higgins. He’s heading up Read Craft’s syndicate, The _New York Chase_ and is responsible for sharing a ticket with me. Sort of last minute.” She smiled. “Me being here.” A tag-along.

 

She knew the type of gossiping Nigel did and couldn’t stand the thought of Miranda having to endure his lovebird predictions for Andy and Jeremy’s happily-ever-after. This had been a bad idea altogether, she thought before turning back to the men speaking at her shoulder.

 

“Formerly of _Rotunda Tribune_ , that’s right. It’s where I got a lot of big breaks but I was itching to get out of DC. The water is either stale or poisonous there. Never in between.”

 

“And here’s much better?” asked Nigel with genuine interest.

 

“It is. The whole nature of this city’s hustle is different,” Jeremy answered.

 

Andy wanted to stay up-to-date on Jeremy’s analysis on DC versus NYC train commutes, but her auditory attention span gave way to a sly visual scan of the ballroom, looking for Miranda who had disappeared from Emily’s side. She was a little sad that Miranda hadn’t approached with Nigel. She choked back a laugh at the idea of offering Emily some gouda tarts from trays lining the appetizer tables as a cover to engage with Miranda when she finally spotted them.

 

It must have been loud because Nigel turned back to her with a smirk. “Looking for someone?”

 

For some reason, the idea of raising the topic of Miranda again between the two of them felt like a petition for trouble. As far as she knew, Nigel had no clue about her month-long romance with Miranda. She wanted to keep things that way.

 

“Well, honestly, I could use a trip to the lady’s room.” Holding up a crystal stem, “Thinking this champagne glass is wearing more lipstick than I am,” she deflected as she walked away.

 

\--

 

She checked the main rooms first, but knew before she set foot inside that there was no way Miranda would use those accommodations. After asking two staff members if there were other private restrooms, she hit the jackpot. She found a two-room restroom. The first one was a sitting room with a large mirror and vanity.

 

Miranda stood facing the mirror and didn’t look at all moved by Andy’s sudden presence.

 

“Hey! Hi. I didn’t know you’d be here. It seems so obvious now given the crowd, but really I’m…very pleasantly surprised. You look--”

 

“I did.”

 

“—Beautiful. You..?”

 

“Did. I knew you’d be here. Emily pulled the RSVP list for me on Tuesday.”

 

“Since Tuesday? Why not mention it at dinner or even after?” She said warily.

 

“I didn’t check my email until later. I was much more interested in my company and my daughters than discussing what I had discovered in an Excel spreadsheet. Plus, the Met…” she said without further explanation.

 

“Discovered?”

 

“Discovered.” Miranda repeated lightly turning to face Andrea with a look of nonchalance.

 

“Hey. Is everything okay?” Andy reached from Miranda’s hands, planning to pull her forward into the hug she’d been imagining since she saw Miranda on the steps. It’d been two days since they hugged. But Miranda turned back to the mirror and opened her clutch. “Miranda?”

 

“Jeremy certainly is a dashing man. Your hero, right?” Miranda had already known enough about Jeremy to know he was sweeping a circle of people with his charm and sharp writing content published at _Chase_. She would never admit spending time sifting through the website bios and a few videos of Jeremy speaking at events—an assignment she’d given her second assistant as soon as his name came out of Andrea’s mouth two months ago.

 

“You can’t honestly believe that I have any interest in Jeremy? I mean” Andy laughed out loud. Before a month ago, Andy’s time was nearly exclusively Miranda’s. And when she wasn’t with Miranda, she was likely doing something for Miranda.

 

Then there was that blaze of a connection between them. Miranda was there when they talked and kissed and held each other. During the times they’d engaged in passionate sexual encounters? Only two, but still. They’d both been there for that. Both wanted it without reservation.

 

“How many times have you seen him in the past month, Andrea?” Miranda was closing her clutch and staring at Andrea through the mirror. It seemed to put an extra layer between them on top of her rigid disposition.

 

Andy pushed her fingers into her hair, making her bun slouch to the right. Her head swayed side-to-side as she looked up to say, “I don’t know” only to realize that she did.

 

Her mind had quickly supplied the calculation, so she said instead, “Probably about six. Give or t…” She wanted to punch herself. “I’m sure. Six.”

 

A turn and a glare. “And how many times have we seen one another in the past month?” she asked with an unnaturally high pitch to her voice.

 

Great. Miranda was employing the Socratic method. “Three. I’m sure of that, too. But we’ve talked on the phone and texted and, goodness, Miranda! Nothing about a twenty-minute coffee break with Jeremy can compare to the way I feel when I’m in reach of you.” She exhaled.

 

“That’s the thing. It does. It adds up. And the negatives do, too. I will only bring up two failed marriages to point out that that’s exactly the way men and women begin a thing, Andrea.”

 

“There’s no thing, Miranda.”

 

“There may be. You see, my experience—I am 47 to your 25, after all—tells me that you’re not quite aware of the nature of your own joy. You’re happy and eager to meet the world. I actually admire that in you. So many do. But, you’re completely incapable of acknowledging that you could also fall…for someone for any number of reasons simply due to proximity.”

 

She wanted to cling to Miranda’s back. To stop the nonsense. To wrap her arms in a tight embrace and smash her cheek against Miranda’s exposed back. But Andy didn’t, thinking that such a display of desperate affection would serve only to further annoy the woman.

 

She took a step back to clear her mind and think of a better plan of action, a way to get them back on familiar footing.

 

“Leaving, are you?”

 

“What? No!”

 

“Well, I am,” she breezed airily. “It’s been 15 minutes and another second of listening to subpar pitches and meeting requests will bring me to my knees.”

 

Andy chuckled at the irony of Miranda’s remarks after defending her to Jeremy. She knew Miranda had good cause to filter the fray. Andy wouldn’t let a little dicey attitude distract from the small pile of business cards she knew her assistants will have tucked in a clutch by their departure nor the otherwise amorous attentions Miranda in-person and not-in-person had given her for a full month now and then before.

 

“Something funny?”

 

“Nothing. Just a thought. Listen, we should…I don’t know. I feel like we’re not thinking on the same wave length right now.”

 

“Do you expect me to wait around until you announce your frequency?”

 

“I expect,” Andy said softly, walking towards Miranda, “that maybe you’re a little put-off but there’s nothing to see, nothing to dig up or know. There’s absolutely nothing between me and Jeremy.”

 

“Darling, you still don’t see the point. I haven’t been clear, I’m afraid.”

 

Andy looked on with confusion.

 

“I’d rather you not spend time with Jeremy. At all.” With that, Miranda side stepped Andy and left the room. The door swung to a close behind her.

\--


	4. A Morning to Remember

Andrea followed suite once the shock wore off. She sprang out of the restroom and down a short flight of stairs to see Miranda moving at a clipped pace to the stairs to the outer halls. The coat closets, she guessed. She faintly heard her name echoed in the periphery, but she dodged and swerved through the increasingly loudening crowd with an unmatched focus. Well, one only topped by Miranda’s clear intention of leaving Andrea with an undue ultimatum.

 

Miranda hadn’t turned around once. Her heart thumped in time with her stride and regret crept in. Why make trouble with the girl?

 

She made a full-stop before she could fully duck into the dim room stationed in the outer halls of the banquet hall. Pulling out her phone, she texted Roy.

 

Something occurred to her as she returned the phone to her glistening clutch. That was it, wasn’t it? Immediately she knew that coping with the Andrea’s lessened presence for four full weeks had been painful. More painful than she cared to admit.

 

“Miranda.” A hand at the small of her back. A sigh. Of course, she followed, Miranda thought. Good. She felt her body relax into the press behind her and felt the heat of Andrea’s body behind comfort her nerves.

 

Miranda shook the pause like a shawl falling from her shoulders. She marched into the room, sifting through the rake.

 

“Miranda, I’ll leave with you—”

 

Suddenly, they were interrupted by the clacking heels of a party concierge. “Do you have a ticket? I can get that for you.”

 

But the look that Miranda shot the young lady had her slowly backing away with a cringe plastered on.

 

“No need.”

 

“No need? Miranda, look, let’s just take a ride, okay? I can get out wherever—close to a subway stop preferably but I do think we shouldn’t leave things hanging.”

 

“Nothing’s hanging but my attention span. I’m ten minutes beyond my max.” Now donned in a jacket, she turns to head out the door; Andrea followed suit, wearing a light poncho with leather strips tied at the waist. She looked gorgeous: young with a doe-eyed virtue. Miranda knew she’d never find another Andrea. This was her chance. For all of the world, there wasn’t another woman like her.

 

The jealousy had built over time and, maybe with a night at home in the quiet of her study she could think things through. She’d only appear desperate if she couldn’t find a reasonable way to tell Andrea that she needed more of them, not less.

 

“Andrea,” Miranda started, only pausing at the clinch she felt at Andrea’s combined helpless expression and look of adoration. _Fine_ , she thought. We’ll do things your way.

 

“How about a ride home? Easy enough. You’ve got about four minutes to tell your date that you’re abandoning his side to catch a ride with your former boss.” She left the room.

 

As she approached the outter doors of the hall, all the things they hadn’t said were striking her in the gut. No talk of commitment. No acknowledgement of the extreme amount of time they’d spent together before Andrea’s last night working for her. Other than the kisses and the incredible sex. No thoughts on how they would deal with everyone else who, conveniently or not, would certainly have an opinion about the nature of their continued relationship. She sighed again.

 

After standing outside for a minute, Roy pulled up and opened a door for her. Surprisingly, Andrea slid in on the other side. Without a need for directions, Roy pulled off into the night.

 

“Well, that was a quick goodbye.”

 

“I sent him a text instead. There's a good sized crowd in there. Would have been too much work to find him,” she said while moving the tiniest bit closer to the woman sharing the back seat.

 

“Mm.”

 

The rest of the drive was silent. A few minutes before they reached Andrea’s apartment, she dared to move her hand palm down across the plump black leather. When Miranda didn’t resist, she linked their fingers, turning her head back to the window as she built her courage.

 

The moment the town car stopped in front of her building, Andrea cracked the door and landed a foot on the pavement with a burst of energy: “Gosh, Roy! Thanks a million!”

 

Finding the girl’s enthusiasm misplaced, Miranda scowled. She was going to comment on her contributions to her safe transport home but gave out a short chortle of laughter when she was suddenly pulled by the arm of out the car.

 

“My!” She huffed, but the bit of excitement had her mind all wrapped up in Andrea, entranced by her smile and the beauty of her lean physique in the lovely maroon dress she wore.

 

This was enough encouragement for Andrea, who shot Roy a “Have a great night!” After Miranda’s nod, a friendly, “You two miss! G’night, Miranda.” The car disappeared into the traffic stream.

 

Up the stairs, holding hands. No words but tension fizzled with unmitigated excitement. Miranda couldn’t pretend that a chance to be alone with Andrea again wasn’t something she’d been fantasizing about. Even with a potential argument ahead of them, something wouldn’t let her abandon the moment they had unexpectedly created for themselves.

 

Once she entered the apartment’s front room, she turned to Miranda, “I really hope this is alright. The girls…”

 

“Are at their father’s this weekend. He’s travelling next week so we made plans to swap yesterday.”

 

“Perfect,” she smiled. “I know I should have…maybe asked but I think we need to talk and I just needed to get you somewhere you couldn’t throw me out of.”

 

Miranda snorted despite herself. “So, it is. Now talk. The longer I wait, the worse the cabbie will be I’m sure of it.”

 

“Miranda, don’t take this the wrong way but you’re really overreacting. I just want to assure you that there’s nothing I’d ever do to jeopardize what we have. It’s so incredibly important to me. Can’t you see that I’m someone that can be trusted?”  
  
“Of course, I can. And do. Don’t be silly. It’s Jeremy Higgins. It’s the time spent.”

 

Breathing out calmly, Andrea had hung the women’s jackets and was moving into the small kitchenette for a bottle to open while Miranda sat on the arm of an oversized chair with her legs crossed.

 

“Miranda, I’m not going to give up my friendship with Jeremy, but I don’t think it’s him really. I think it’s me showing up with him. He wasn’t my date, you know?” Miranda peered at her. “It was a last-minute invitation for networking mostly. You know how important it is for journalists to meet and gain the trust of people in this town. Why does he bother you?” She abruptly turned around, sitting aside the materials in her hand. “Wait! Before you answer, I mean. This is the wrong time and there’s no finesse but before you answer, please consider the fact that I’ve…you’re. I only want you. I’m in love with you and have been and it tears at my heart to think that you don’t trust me.” Her eyes glistened with the weight she felt released from her chest. The confession was freeing but Miranda’s response wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped for.

 

Miranda’s head dropped into her hands, momentarily she felt an overwhelming surge run through her that made her want to laugh, cry and pull Andrea to her at once. Not completely surprised, no. More than that, Miranda felt liberated in hearing, finally, the words even though she hadn’t been brave enough to verse them aloud too.

 

Miranda lifted her head, “I’m going to do something I haven’t done in a relationship before and tell you exactly what I’m thinking right now: you’re heart is so big. It amazes me. You could love the worst of New York with a smile. It only took time, habit setting and your natural devotion to your work and to me and even the girls for what we have to grow and I simply…”

 

“No,” Andrea breathed out, creeping to Miranda with the wine forgotten.

 

“Yes,” softly said. Andrea, she had always feared was simply too young for the sort of commitment that she wanted. The rest of her life. That’s what she wanted with Andrea—in a permanent, right-now kind of way that was eating her up no matter how hard to she tried to clamp it down. Shocking but no less powerful, any threat to that triggered a core personality trait she’d groomed working in a professional world dominated by men and their interests: to divide and conquer.

 

“No, I love you. The smile that I get when I brush the hair from your eyes, the moments when you look genuinely confused or the way you offer the girls advice on how to pursue even the smallest of things that pique their interests. And of course I also love you because the time I spend with you. But it’s more than just time; it’s the memories I have after spending it with you. It’s your strength and intelligence and your devotion to excellence. Yes, because you are the picture of grace and lead people into their calling, giving them chances and promoting the good that comes with art and imagination. But, I simply can’t have you thinking that I’m so fickle that I’m unable to tell the difference between the want for one person and the utter romantic irrelevance of another.”

 

Now having stood and making a slow circle around Andrea, she dodged the girl’s most pressing comment about trust: “You know, I’d never believe it from my own lips a year ago but I’m enticed by your youth…Andy.” The first time she’d used that name aloud but frequently in her thoughts and dreams. “Maybe I’m doing exactly what most power brokers do. Maybe you, in your position, are, too. You’re enamored, perhaps? Tell me, am I the reality you want or always dreamed of? Think about it first.”

 

“You’re not like them. I’m sure. I’m certainly not like any of those bastards that make up a world of Irvs, and you know it. Jeremy may be end up being some damsel’s knight but he’s not mine. And I don’t think it’s him you’re bothered by. I’m starting to think it could be any man in this particular moment of our relationship. Maybe you just want a reason to push me away before you get everything you wanted.” Andrea went out on a limb: “I think I’m everything you want.” She caught Miranda’s arm in what must have been her third rotation. “Am I the force you can’t escape?”

 

“Yes, let’s forget about Jeremy for a second, though sooner or later you’ll have to acknowledge what I’ve made clear,” she said through Andrea’s huff of air. A moment of stupidity in the bathroom had now insured his constant presence in a discussion that should only be about them and where they were going with this. “Andrea we were together all the time. Do you remember? Twelve-hour working days once you include our nightcaps.” She ran a finger down the center of Andrea’s chest until the V-shape of the bodice halted her plunge. She was happy to see the rise and fall increase. “For months and months, you would also spend some part of the weekend with us without exception. The point of letting you leave _Runway_ was for you to figure out why you wanted to find yourself under my thumb at any given moment!”

 

She wanted to remind the woman that leaving had been her own decision; she refrained. She breathed harder, wanting Miranda’s touch more than she wanted clarity. Miranda’s words frustrated her. Her refusal to admit that everything she wanted was willing and available to her. Miranda’s words strayed farther away from anything to do with Jeremy and closer to what simply sounded like, “I want, love and need you with me.” Wasn’t that what she’d been confessing in return all along?

 

Miranda says, “We need time.” She slide her hands to Andrea’s back, releasing the clamp that secured the dress’ front covering. Andrea and Miranda didn’t break eye contact.

 

“So you’ll give that to me? A chance? To show you?”

 

“And what will you give to me?” Miranda’s words pulled at Andy’s groin. Of course, Miranda would. It went without saying.

 

“I’ll give you anything you want.” She sighed feeling a sudden delirious wave of arousal.

 

Andrea finally reacted to her touches. She pulled Miranda’s mouth to hers, planting kiss after kiss and pressing her hands into the woman’s curves until Miranda began to gasp and groan and pull at her clothes without restraint.

 

\----

 

Andrea’s five a.m. alarm cut through the silence. She rubbed at her eyes, yawned and stretched her legs, twisting at the waist. Smiling, she looked over at Miranda, who was turned in the opposite direction. She turned back to the clock to silence it and her own gasp disrupted the quiet of the room as her eyes finally adjusted to see the time displayed on her bedside alarm screen.

 

“Ugh.” She groaned. Waking the lovely woman in her bed could wait; Miranda could use the rest. She knew the day’s regular schedule had been suspended in light of the Staff awards ceremony that would be held in the building’s main hall that afternoon. It was part of a larger employee appreciation initiative Miranda presented to the company’s twelve-member board. Weeks ago Miranda said that the move had simultaneously pleased the executives and enraged Irv. Miranda was delighted, of course. . Despite most departments’ delayed start time, Miranda certainly would arrive by 9am. No need to encourage her, Andrea thought. Andrea would kiss her awake after a shower.

 

Andrea felt the covers wrapped at her waist and pulled them free as a foot lobbed down towards the floor. She had to get to the _Mirror_ headquarters in time for her 7:30 am shift and hoped to spending a little time with Miranda would help her mellow out before such a big day. Just as she felt her heart rate pick up at the thought of the day’s plans to scope out the storage facility Jeremy told her about, she also felt a set of fingers lock around her wrist. It halted her momentum; she paused and looked back.

 

Miranda’s face looked clean, soft and unfettered by the night. Her hair, while not perfectly layered per usual, was neatly organized into waves of strands stretching back, tucked behind her ears. Gorgeous but for the unreadable expression.

 

Andrea felt her chest tighten more. She immediately recognized her own fear of Miranda’s frustration with her and in a sudden single-minded need to escape the steady look she received from Miranda, she lunged backwards towards the door and ultimately toward the shower where she could think through how she’d appease Miranda’s bout of jealousy.

 

But Miranda didn’t let go. She pulled back, sending Andrea’s knee into the comforter. Andrea felt a sharp tug somewhere else at Miranda’s display of quiet force and leaned into the downward movement until her lips pressed Miranda’s. Feeling the woman kiss back sent relief through her chest. She felt she could breath for the first time that morning.

 

“Good morning, beautiful,” she smiled and then threw a thumb over her shoulder to the effect of “I’ve still got to get going.” Miranda’s other hand suddenly locked behind her neck as she murmured a soft greeting in return.

 

They stared, breathing each other in. Although Andrea felt out of sorts, she also felt the warmth pooled in her stomach. A lot of it. Miranda tugged again, and Andrea collapsed atop of her. They both breathed loudly into the morning air.

 

“Where are you rushing off to?”

 

“Work,” Andrea said gently. “Remember, I mentioned my shift last night. You can stay as long as you need, and I may even be able to make a bit of breakfast now that I’m up, and it’s still pretty early. Can you believe I haven’t been late yet?” She grinned.

 

“Of course I can believe it.” She looked down. “It’s definitely clear we’re at your apartment. We’d never hear this insane amount of creaking with every move in my bed,” Miranda replied, harmless disdain lacing her voice.

 

Andrea snorted, feeling her chest deflate. Miranda was fine, if quiet.

 

“I still think I should go. To get ready. I hope you’ll relax a little bit, stay in bed. There’s a key in the table by the door, which you can actually just keep now that I think of it.”

 

“Again, a creaky mattress. Really…” her voice faded as she pulled Andrea to her again. Kissed her much more deeply than time seemed to allow. When Andrea was released from her lip lock, she looked down again. That eerie feeling was there again, telling her that something wasn’t altogether fine with Miranda beneath the surface. So she bent back into Miranda feeling helpless to fight the sensations that now had taken overtaken her. She wanted Miranda more than anything else, needed her to be the stabilizing force that kept her feet on the ground. And she hoped that she was giving Miranda the same firm foundation of love. With Miranda easing them into a fluid roll of hips and feeling the woman’s hand at her backside melding them her closer together, Andrea gave in.

 

After their meandering conversation from the previous night, their intimacy screamed of desperation for affirmation. Andrea hadn’t known Miranda to ever lob threats she wouldn’t follow through on, and Miranda had always known that Andrea was most fierce when defending a stance she valued. Still, for nearly an hour since Andrea tried to run from bed, neither woman brought up the lingering shadow of last night’s hasty declarations of distrust and resistance.

 

Andrea had struggled to right her world after Nate, Lily and Doug departed so suddenly from her life. It meant everything to have Miranda and the girls enthusiastic presence, but she simply didn’t want to give up a friend that posed no threat to their future—the bliss—that she shared with Miranda as a lover and friend and hopefully, soon, a child-wrangling partner-in-crime.

 

“Ever the contradiction.” Miranda breathed out after another series of soft pecks.

 

“Hmm?” Andrea moaned the question even with a look of utter innocence and lack of awareness.

 

“Oh. You _know_. These gentle kisses and...and…hammering me down below.” She fingered the straining mass at Andrea’s bicep. Watching it and the tendons at the girl’s neck strain as her hand moved vigorously between her legs. The constancy of Andrea’s strokes measured against the intermittent tugs on her labia and haywire swipes across her clit kept Miranda suspended in sort of loop of raking pleasure and want.

 

Beneath the sheet that hung from Andrea’s shoulders, the girl fucked Miranda like she owed a debt of gratitude. And Miranda had never been so grateful that Andrea didn’t let up amidst all the noises that their fucking pulled from throat. She licked Andrea’s neck from base to ear lobe, grabbing it between her teeth and trying to mirror with little pressure bites that glorious rhythm Andrea was setting.

 

Suddenly, she felt the telltale signs of climax. She hadn’t expected that her squeezing sensation against Andrea’s fingers would tip her into orgasm, too.

 

Andrea sobbed aloud as they came in unison—such a rarity even as the count of their sexual adventures remained low; three encounters now. And more rare was the shock to Miranda’s chest at the mixture of hurt and intensely wonderful endorphins flowing through her. They murmured sweet nothings to each other sweet nothings as the buzz settled.

 

“You’re crying. I don’t want you to cry.” Miranda palmed Andrea’s jawbones to bring her into eye line and to wipe the few drops that ran down. “I can’t have that,” her own voice broken as a tear fell into the pillow beneath her. Andrea didn’t say anything, but nodded her head and took a deep calming breath at the feel of the woman’s hands on her back.

 

“Miranda,” Andrea said as she oscillated the weight of her head between the two palms. “I’ll be fine, really. Maybe we can talk some more. Last night kind of got away from us.” Her second alarm chimed on her phone. “Gosh. I gotta go. It’s late. Getting later.” She’d definitely be late with the hassle of the subway added in and there was no chance of making breakfast in bed for Miranda.

 

“Roy will take you. Then, he’ll deliver me to the townhouse before work. Nigel _will_ call promptly at 11:30. He’s so gung-ho about up-staging Weston Hall’s counter exhibit that’ll go on display at this year’s Met. It amuses me terribly.” It seemed like the wrong time for Miranda to make light of anything. And that moment seemed to reveal the most obvious thing to them both. They were both still fighting. For each other.

 

“Oh!” She sniffed. “Okay. That’s…that’s fine. Perfect really. Thank you, Miranda.” With a light smile she leaned back into Miranda’s mouth, kissing her twice and finally extending her arms and getting out of the bed with a sheet wrapping her lean build, shuffling to the closet to grab at hangers and toiletries.

 

“As far as Nigel goes, after the dinner tickets he spotted us for Concert Hall, I hope you’re indulging his every whim.”

 

“Don’t I always?”

 

“Ha! Need I recall the mysterious lapsing of a certain James Holt International VP role?”

 

“Need _I_ recant that monstrosity’s five-month lifespan? Don’t answer that, by the way. You know it; I know it. He _definitely_ knows it. I. Saved. His. Career.” And with a light exhale of false modesty, “God _knows_ co-founding and editing _Incognito_ as a men’s fashion auxiliary, fully-budgeted out of Elias-Clarke, was the best in-house transfer any senior art director could ask for. _Really._ ”

 

Encouraged by Andrea’s chuckles, she continued. “I saved him so much time and trouble. No worrying about picking a new healthcare plan or figuring out how the office space and furniture will get sorted out. Sure, he had a bit of a heartbreak after Paris, and he may be out of the way over in Hell’s Kitchen…”

 

“He’s _not_. It’s only seven blocks away, Miranda. Prada’s office is farther downtown,” Andrea interjected.

 

Rolling over to watch Andrea leave the bedroom with a towel thrown over her shoulder, Miranda said, “Yes to eggs, toast and coffee in your cobalt mug? I’ll cook while you scrub.” A smile.

 

Before the bathroom door swung closed, “Absolutely.” Then popping her head back out, Andrea smiled widely at Miranda, who continued to smile back, part of her face dropping into a pillow with a coy sensibility that no one outside of Andrea’s tiny apartment bedroom would believe she possessed.

 

“Sheesh. You’re some kind of wonderful, lady.”

 

\--

 

More sunlight crept into the room through a window adjacent the bed. Miranda took a deep breath. Then, another. Ten minutes of texting Roy, returning a few emails and running her plans and next steps through her head. She frowned as she realized that she was indeed completely comfortable in Andrea’s little bed of fluffy pillows and a plush white feather-stuffed spread. Wonders never cease.

 

“Mmmm.” She stretched and moved to stand when a loud crash sent her jolting backwards onto the bed with a startled yelp.

 

At the bedside, a brick with paper attached lay atop one of her discarded black paten-leather Prada pumps. Among it glass shards glistened in the sunlight and specks of the clear material stumbled across the floor from the wind gushing from the star-shaped whole in the window. The sudden noise of all of New York coming alive below them slammed into her eardrums.

 

Andrea came dashing from the bathroom in a towel and with dripping hair, her face aghast with horror.

 

“Oh, my God, Miranda! Your shoe!” She gasped for air. “I’m so so-, so-rry,” she belted out mindlessly while she panted from the sheer shock of hearing her love’s scream and the resulting mess on the floor. She lept into the bed and into Miranda’s arms, the fear taking her breath.

 

“My shoe?! Fuck the shoe, Andrea. It’s you I’m worried about! Someone just threw a brick through the damn window.” She untangled an arm from her tight grasp on the girl and patted the bed haphazardly for her phone, saying, “I’m calling the police now. Stay put.” But Andrea had already leaned over the bed to take another look.

 

“There’s a note.”


End file.
